


There is Nothing After Death

by Hanta_Sero



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alcohol, Alexander Hamilton is a bigger little shit, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Guns, Heartbreak, Henry Laurens' A+ Parenting, Homophobia, John Laurens is a little shit, Lams endgame, Love Triangles, Multi, NO SEXY TIMES I'M FIRM ON THIS FOR ONCE, Near Death Experiences, No Beta We Die Like Hamilton (take your pick as to which one), Not Actually Unrequited Love, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Past Thaurens, Recreational Drug Use, Unrequited Love, Weddings
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-17
Updated: 2020-11-17
Packaged: 2021-03-09 18:48:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,883
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27600950
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hanta_Sero/pseuds/Hanta_Sero
Summary: John knows nothing but heartbreak. Fed up with his son's inability to love, Henry Laurens arranges a marriage to Martha Ramsey set on January 1st, New Year's day. Terrified, John flees to New York where he meets someone with auburn hair and sharp eyes who will change his life forever.
Relationships: Alexander Hamilton/Angelica Schuyler, Alexander Hamilton/John Laurens, Gilbert du Motier Marquis de Lafayette/Hercules Mulligan, Maria Reynolds/Elizabeth "Eliza" Schuyler, Maria Reynolds/Margaret "Peggy" Schuyler, Thomas Jefferson/James Madison, Thomas Jefferson/John Laurens
Comments: 1
Kudos: 14





	There is Nothing After Death

**Author's Note:**

> I started this like a billion years ago and I half don't remember what the plot is, but i'm gonna finish it by winging it bc i love the concept

If the whole galaxy is his to keep, John decides he'll just leave it alone. He knows the consequences of meddling with fate. The dim sky is speckled with the unforgiving stars, washing the field in cold, hard light. So strange, how people manage to see animals and old Greek heroes in the sky. John sees only the dark penetrated by far-away stars. He sees nothing.

John is lying in a ragtag field miles from his home with his sisters; Martha and Mary Eleanor, and his brothers; James and Henry Jr who all lay close in his arms to distance the terrifying shivers—no credit to the light wind... The night stretches on and so does their silence. John's throat is still throbbing painfully from earlier that evening…

_ “Father, you wanted to see me?” John murmurs through the thick wooden door, his hand lying limp on its cool face. _

_ “Ah, yes, John, come in.”  _

_ John wipes his sweaty hands on his pants before cautiously opening the heavy door, squeaking on its metal hinges. John’s father sits behind his desk, cool gray eyes steely.  _

_ “Sit.”  _

_ John sits in the brown leather seat before his father, the seat two inches lower than Henry Sr.’s. He forces himself to look into his father’s face, the cruel, unforgiving lines of age creasing his forehead. A sign, perhaps, that his father is growing too old to beat him till death’s door… perhaps he is not as strong as he used to be…  _

_ John brightens at that fact.  _

_ “So,” Henry Sr. begins, picking up a manilla folder and leafing with careful coolness through the crisp pages, “I’ve noticed that you’ve been awfully quiet about your romantic life. How’s that going?”  _

_ “Uh,” John says, startled and fighting to keep his voice steady, “it’s not that—uh, I mean, I’m currently not in a relationship.”  _

_ “When was your last relationship?” Henry Sr. asks casually.  _

_ “I was ne—um, two years ago.”  _

_ “Who was the lucky girl?” John’s father’s voice is cool but his hands had stopped moving.  _

_ “Er… her name was, uh, Adrienne.”  _

_ “Adrienne what?”  _

_ “A—Adrienne Françoise!” John blurts out. _

_ “Hmmm… I’ve never seen her around.”  _

_ “Oh—we weren’t dating that long, actually, so I never took her to meet you…?”  _

_ John’s father sighs and stands up. John makes to stand up as well but his father waves him down. John returns reluctantly to his seat, neck craned upwards so that he could look into his father’s face as his father faced him.  _

_ “I don’t think Miss Adrienne is real, John.” Henry Sr. says quietly, maliciously. “In fact, I can’t remember a single time you were ever in a relationship.” _

_ John bites his lip. _

_ “John Laurens, you have two jobs. One: get a good education and get yourself a good, high-paying job. Two: marry a respected woman and produce male offspring. You have failed at both of those. I asked you to major in law. You did not. I can’t imagine what you could do with a degree in biology… how useless…” _

_ John slumps into his seat. _

_ “And as for the woman, you have failed to choose a spouse, so now I must choose for you.” _

_ “Father?” John begins fearfully, his mouth going dry. _

_ “Two weeks from now,” Henry Laurens Sr. hisses, his eyes sharp as knives, “you will be married to Miss Martha Ramsey, who comes from one of the most prestigious and respected families in South Carolina—”  _

_ “No father!” John cries, clutching his face in horror, springing up to confront him. “Please, no, I beg of you, please—” _

_ “Shut up, I’m not done!” Henry Sr. roars, striking his son across the face with a meaty fist.  _

_ John cries out and staggers backwards, falling against the wall with a muffled thump. Henry is breathing heavily, his fists still clenched, knuckles white. _

_ “You will be married to Miss Martha Ramsey on the first of January. You will produce offspring, at least one male, and keep the Laurens bloodline alive. I will not permit anything else.” _

_ John whimpers. “But father…”  _

_ “You hear me?” Henry Sr. snarls.  _

_ John is silent, defeated, looking up to his father with wide, tear-filled, horrified eyes.  _

_ “I repeat: Do. You. Hear. Me?” _

_ John looks away, his deadly pride sure to be the last of him someday. _

_ John’s father snarls and crosses the small office in two strides, picking his son up by the neck and slamming him against the wall. John lets out a gurgling scream.  _

_ “YOU HEAR ME?” he demands.  _

_ “Y—Yes! I do, I do!” John finally chokes out, tears falling from his heavy eyes. _

_ Henry Laurens Sr. releases John and stalks from the room, satisfied with his son’s forced answer. As John lays in a puddle of his tears and blood, he squeezes the last salty droplets from his eyes and feels his heart break.  _

_ Agony threatens to overwhelm and then it does, sapping strength from his weak and convulsing limbs. _

Yes, heartbreak is very painful...

Everyone had two hearts. One emotional heart and one blood heart. The emotional heart lives in the back of your throat. Everyone has a different color; John's is a soft, rosy red. The emotional heart glows when it's whole and its color changes depending on how the person feels. Breaking your emotional heart is the most painful thing you can do to yourself. It hurts both ways, physically and mentally. They say some people die from the pain.

The blood heart just sits in your chest, pumping blood throughout your body, the useless lump it is. Nothing special there.

The rosy heart in John's throat would glow no more, shattered; it drips scarlet blood into his mouth. The metallic taste marinates his tongue. John glances up at the sky, picking out individual pinpricks of light, creating his own constellations in his head to pass the time as the moon climbs higher in the sky. The quiet is pristine and cold, the air as brittle as glass. Mary Eleanor, the youngest and the most foolish, is the first to break the silence.

"Jacky, what are you going to do now?" she asks, her wide fawn eyes, always too big for her face, batts innocently at him. She is small for seven, her dark hair plaited messily; the handiwork of her older sister, Martha. "Are you going away again?" Her pale pink heart dims a notch in the pale light of the moon.

John coughs and closes his eyes while his heart clenches up in grief. "My darling Mary, I am so sorry, but I… I have to leave. I cannot stay here."

"Not again!" Mary Eleanor cries, her piteous wailing rousing James, whose eyes also begin to fill with tears.

"Jack," James whimpers, his green heart and face pale with cold, "who'll protect us from father then? Who will calm him in his rages?"

James, for only being fifteen, looks the most like John. They both have rich, chocolaty hair and a fair, heart-shaped face dotted heavily with freckles. The only difference is that James's eyes are clear blue, like their deceased mother's, while John's are a heavy hazel. John longs to turn his head to look at his brother, but his neck aches sorely, bruises ringing it like a purple collar.

"Henry can," John murmurs, his throat and eyes stinging like a fire, "Henry is on better terms with father anyways. Always is on better terms with father."

"Not true," Henry Jr. chides, his brown eyes troubled. "Father loves all of us equally. Yes," he adds, noticing John's skeptical look, "all of us. Especially you, Jack."

John closes his eyes and shakes his head slightly, wincing.

"I know he does," Henry says, his yellow heart shining confidently.

Martha clears her throat. "James, take Mary Eleanor home now. It's nearly past bedtime and father will be furious if she stays out too late. He'll be worried for her health."

"Martha!" James protests, "I want to stay!"

"Listen to your sister," Henry, the second-eldest child, commands. "And don't you have your calculus final tomorrow? It's nearly ten, you should go. Think about Mary," he presses when James still looks mutinous, "would you keep her out here in the cold against her will?"

James finally sighs and stands up. He takes small Mary by the hand. "No."

The Laurens siblings do everything together; much closer than regular siblings. However, their love for each other comes at a high price. With a dead mother and a bible-bound and strict father, they have never been shown much affection. Their father spends most of his days working and comes home very late every night. When John still lived with his family, he and Martha would wake up early every morning to prepare breakfast. Then, once they had finished, John would drive himself and Henry to high school while Martha would walk Mary to her elementary school. James would walk by himself to his middle school. Martha would come back and do the dishes and then she would drive herself to school, always nearly late. Their father offered no help whatsoever with academics or extracurricular activities either. The only time he would acknowledge their existence was when he would take them to church on Sundays, John standing uncomfortably to the side his mind not paying any notice to the babble being dribbled down in a bitter syrup.

"Jack," Martha says once James and Mary had disappeared into the tall grass, "about father's proposal—"

"No!" John cries fiercely, "Do not speak of it!"

"John!" Henry cut across, "it would do no good to keep all that bottled up inside you. Martha only wants to help! And—and so do I."

"No one can help me," John says, scrambling to his feet. Martha and Henry quickly mirror him. "There's nothing anyone can do. Father made himself clear. I cannot refuse."

"You still have two more weeks of freedom before the wedding," Martha says desperately, searching for something good in the mess. Her purple heart flickers feebly as so do her eyes.

"Two weeks?!" John explodes, "Only two weeks left of freedom in my entire life! Only two more weeks before being hogtied to a woman—a total stranger—and forced to provide for her for the rest of my life! Only two more weeks, then I have to hide forever! You—you know how I feel about women!"

"I know," Martha says quietly.

"And, and father! He knows, I know he does! He must have found out somehow… was it my lack of interest in the women at his parties? Or was it how I've never had a romantic relationship with a woman before? He's done this to me, I know, this is my punishment for being gay, I knew it, I knew it!"

"Jack—" Henry begins.

"No, no! Don't talk, please, don't talk! I can't believe it, why won't he let me be who I am? If he could stick his pretentious nose somewhere other than his bible for once, maybe he can see that being gay really isn't sinful! I mean, it's the 21st century! Look at where we are, look at where we started! Everyone's more accepting now, it's not the 1800s! It's—it's—it's—!"

And his voice falters as his mind reels a mile a minute. Only one thought and one face can form in his mind as two pieces snap together. John drops to his knees, tears springing to his eyes and flowing hot and fast down his face. He cups his hands over his eyes and opens his mouth, letting out a strangled sob as he feels blood drip from his tongue into the crushed grass at his feet… Still trying to push away that face into only splinters of his subconscious…

_ A magenta heart glows brightly in the dim light of dusk. Its owner smirks down at John, the wild curls a halo around his head. His brown eyes were only a shade darker than his toffee-colored skin. _

_ "So," Thomas says, "you were saying earlier… you wanted to tell me something…?" _

_ "Uh," John stutters, blushing crimson and winding his fingers through his hair, "no?" _

_ "Mmhmm," Thomas hums, narrowing his eyes in disbelief. "Sure. I totally believe you." _

_ John blushes harder and bites his lip, turning his head away. Thomas coos. _

_ "Aww, don't turn your cute little face away from me. Why so embarrassed? Is something—" Thomas reaches down and presses his long-fingered hands to John's abdomen "—bothering you?" _

_ John lets out a pathetic squeak, his eyes flying open as he temporarily forgets how to breathe. Thomas's hands are cold against his warm body, the flames which were creeping around his ears are now licking their way greedily down his back. John sucks in a breath of air and turns his face slowly towards Thomas's. _

_ "N-No," John breathes shakily. "All's swell." He licks his lips. _

_ Thomas gives John a long, almost disappointed, almost triumphant look and then forcefully grabs John's face with those cold, cold hands and drags him into a kiss. John's eyes fly open and he stares at Thomas in complete shock, his body going rigid. His mind whizzes and tumbles through clouds and cotton balls and all the useless fluff. He feels like he had been electrocuted, his knees going weak and wobbly as his hands and feet tingle with electricity. He closes his eyes. _

_ After a long minute, Thomas Jefferson breaks away and John sways where he stands, his eyes going a little crossed. He finally manages to focus on Thomas's slightly pink face. Thomas is grinning. _

_ "I knew it," Thomas smirks, "You love me." _

_ "I think—well, rather you, uh, I think you—uh—" John stutters, his mind blank. _

_ Thomas laughs. "See you tomorrow, Jacky." _

_ "Doh," John says, still stuck in his stupor. Thomas laughs again and pats him on the shoulder. John sways and sinks to the floor. _

The real John starts to tremble violently, grabbing fistfuls of curls and pulling, screaming now, losing all control of himself.

"Jack!" Martha cries, grabbing her elder brother's arms and shaking him slightly, "Jack, snap out of it! You need to calm down. I'm all for having you express your feelings about the situation, but having a mental breakdown isn't the best way to do it!"

John takes a deep, shuddering breath and then falls limp in Martha's grasp.

"I'm sorry," he muttered. "I'm not myself today. Not after…"

Martha lets go of his arms and sits back. She and Henry exchange helpless glances and they move closer to their defeated brother. They sit together in silence until Henry can't stand the pain anymore and stands up, leaving the two alone in the watery moonlight. As Martha fingers the golden locket around her neck, John falls into the abyss of sleep…

_ "Gil," John says, shaking the dark, lanky boy. "Gil, ge' up!" _

_ "What?" Gilbert de Lafayette mutters, shaking his curls, his dark, corkscrew hair bouncing back and forth hypnotically. "John? It is midnight!" _

_ "Pas' midnigh'," John grins, standing up and slipping on a warm fleece jacket. "C'mon, I wan' to go to town." _

_ "Town?" Gilbert says, now wide awake, alarm in his black eyes. "John, you must not go to town! It is dark and cold, you will have sickness if you do!" _

_ "I won' ge' ill," John says, discreetly correcting his French friend's grammar. Gilbert's native language was French, and he always struggled with English grammar and conjugations. _

_ "Still, I do not think it wise. What would your father say?" _

_ "Don' care wha' father says. He doesn' le' me go into town, no matter how much I beg him. Did he really think he'd keep me away forever, locked up in this stupid house, forcing study upon study on me? He rarely ever even lets me see you! I think the only reason you're allowed to come sometimes is 'cause the Washingtons are loaded." _

_ "True, John, but I still am thinking—" _

_ "Oh, Gil, jus' this once, please! I'll migh' never have another crack a' escaping, even if it only for a few hours!" _

_ "I do not know," Gilbert says, still hesitant. "I do not want to be in trouble. I might never be allowed to come over again." _

_ "Please?" John whines, grabbing Gilbert's arm. _

_ Gilbert sighs and then shakes his head again. _

_ "Fine, but only this one time. I will not accompany you again." _

_ "Thank you so much!" John exclaims, pressing a kiss to Gilbert's cheek. Gilbert flushes in the dim light, but he goes unnoticed by John. _

_ John and Gilbert escape through the backdoor and quietly steal towards the iron-wrought gate, which separates the Laurens property from the rest of the world. In the dark light of the new moon, every step holds new dangers. Gilbert snaps a few twigs as John knocks over an old, crumbling statue. The marble hits the stone path with a large crunch, the sound magnified in the deathly silence. _

_ John and Gilbert freeze, terrified. A few minutes pass and nothing happens. John lets out a sigh of relief. Then a light flickers on in the master bedroom. _

_ "Oh mon Dieu!" Gilbert moans and grabs John's arm, dragging his freckled friend over the shelter of the mangrove trees. "He is awake, your father is awake! He knows we are out here! We have to hide!" _

_ "Where?" John gasps, terror clouding his mind. _

_ "In—In this bush!" Gilbert says, shoving John and himself into an overgrown holly bush. _

_ The spiny leaves press uncomfortably into John's exposed skin, and a cold draft blow in, rattling the leaves and numbing his face and hands. A few silent, uneventful minutes pass before— _

_ "What in the hell are you doing in there? What in the hell are you doing with him?!" _

_ The holly bush is ripped open as John's father's livid face shone through, blocking the feeble light of the moon. _

_ "Father!" John cries fearfully, "I can explain! See, me an' Gil were—" _

_ "No, I don't want to hear your pathetic excuses. Creeping around the grounds at two in the morning, nearly scared Mary to death, thought it was a burglar trying to break into the house! What're you doing in that goddamned bush—" _

_ John's father turns around to make a sign of the cross, muttering to himself: "In the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit, forgive me for saying the Lord's name in vain. Amen." _

_ He turns back around with frightening eyes. John gulps in air fearfully and Gilbert clasps his hands under his chin, his black eyes wide and apprehensive. Gilbert has always been terrified of John's father, but he seems to be keeping his head… for now. John draws strength from Gilbert's temporary bravery. _

_ "We wasn' doing nothing wrong, father! We was jus' going to see if we could find the—the ca'!" _

_ "The cat? My ass! The cat's in Martha's room where it always is! You were doing something else, I know it. Sneaking around long after dark with Gilbert! What'd you think you were going to do? A couple of twelve-year-olds in the wee hours of the morning? What people would say! They would say I've raised a hooligan!" John's father's steely grey eyes are smouldering with rage as he takes a threatening step towards the two young boys. Realization dawns on John. _

_ "Father, please!" John pleads, flinging himself in front of his father, "Blame me! 'Twas my idea, all mine! Gil did none of the plannin'! I forced him, yes I did! Spare him, please! Think of what the Washington’s would wonder if he came home in a mess!" _

_ Henry Sr. stops in his tracks and narrows his eyes at John, the moonlight gleaming off his close-cropped black hair. He is nearly six-foot-five, broad-shouldered and handsome in a cold, malicious way. The only trait he had passed onto his children were the freckles scattered across his nose. _

_ Henry seems to have made his mind and glares at Gilbert, jerking his head to the left. Gilbert takes one last futile glance at John before darting past the big man and fleeing as if his life depends on it. Henry advances towards John as the trembling boy takes a deep breath. A strong hand grabs his collar and lifts John up. A fist swings out to greet him. _

"Jack. Jack."

John groans and blinks open his eyes, groggy. He has grass pressed into his cheek and tangled in his curls. He raises his eyes to the lightening sky and his heart drops to his feet.

"Oh shit, what time is it?"

"Six," Martha breathes, her eyes wide with terror.

"Shit," John repeats. "Father! He'll—I need to leave, you know I can't stay, not after this, don't care if father paid the college tuition already, I'll be in New Yo—"

"If you need to go, just go!" Martha bursts out, her eyes wide with fear. Her purple heart flickers and dims. "Don't worry about me, you know father wouldn't hit a woman. It's you who you should be worried about. You must get away now; catch a train to New York."

"Without even saying goodbye?" John asks incredulously. "I must say goodbye to Mary and James and Henry first!

"Just go!" Martha cries, exasperated. "They'll understand, I promise." She glanced at the steadily lightening sky. "Go!"

John scrambled to his feet and pulls Martha into a bone-crushing hug. He stumbles across the wild, untamed fields, wiping tears away from stinging eyes. The long, ropey grass grabs at his legs, the green fronds whispering and slick with night-time dew. He grits his teeth and struggles on through the waist-high grass, thick and lush, perfumed from the night flowers. The white patches of dandelions explode, their seeds dancing through the air as he kicks through them. John's eyes water as a half-forgotten memory of warm summer nights, dandelions, and James resurfaces. He pushes the memory away angrily. Now is not the time.

He blunders onto a dirt path and jogs down it until he reaches the outskirts of town, the gravel crunching and grinding against his worn leather boots. Dawn has now risen from her golden throne, the sky alight with warm hues. Out of breath, John throws himself mercilessly into the suburbs, alternating between sprinting and jogging as he cuts his way through the streets, searching for the train station.

John slips past a sketchy alleyway and then suddenly catches sight of a sleek, silver sports car. Heart hammering in his throat, he ducks into the nearest shop, which turns out to be a Starbucks. It is jam-packed with people, most of them tapping away on their phones or computers, sipping warm season-themed drinks. John aches to be one of them; normal, boring people with enough money to afford a drink or two. Leisurely scrolling through Instagram or Tumblr and checking out awesome memes. John swallows a lump in his throat and backs out, closing the door gently behind him. Head down, he shoves through the swarms of people and makes his way uptown.

At long last, he spots the train station and pulls a few crumpled bills from his pocket to purchase a one-way ticket to New York. On the train, he presses his forehead to the grimy glass windows and cries until everything blurs and turns black, and he welcomes himself into unconsciousness.

**Author's Note:**

> *breathes* Does anyone even like Hamilton anymore?? No, only me??? okay bro😳


End file.
